


Coming Soon: Coulson's Used Books

by Cpwatcher



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cpwatcher/pseuds/Cpwatcher
Summary: Phil got more than he expected while moving into the new location for Coulson's Used Books.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharpiesgal (TigerLily)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerLily/gifts).



> For Tigerlily (sharpiesgal), who wanted first time/first kiss, bookshop au. She also wanted Tony/Natasha, and Bruce. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this.

It was a little after 8am and the morning breakfast rush was almost over at Fury's Double O Joint (Stuff so good you'll come again and again). Nick Fury, owner and cook, stood at the grill, finishing up another ticket.

"Order up. Two Mexican omelets, one with bacon, the other sausage. Side of toast and hash browns."

No sooner than Fury placed the filled plates on the strip of counter next to him, his waitress Natasha breezed past him, grabbing up the order. He watched as she placed the plates down in front of the two Wall Street wannabes at the corner booth. They had been trying to chat her up, but just like all the others before them, their tales of high-powered boardroom deals fell upon deaf ears. Although she'd never admit it aloud, Fury knew that Natasha Romanov had a thing for Tony Stark, the mechanic down the block. A thing which Tony seemed to reciprocate. However, as yet, Nick was certain the two hadn't hooked up, even though it has been over a year since Natasha started at the diner. They seemed more content to snark at each other. Clint, Natasha's best friend, had said it was a form of dysfunctional flirting between two people who had commitment issues. Fury agreed with Barton's assessment, but was willing to take the sentiment a step further, and put all the people in their close-knit group under the dysfunctional family umbrella. 

The 'family' consisted of the people within the group of businesses that made up their square block. It was actually more of an odd triangular shaped block, with the Double O Joint making up the point on one corner. Across the alley, at the rear of the Double O, sitting along side the embankment of train tracks and making up the far side of the triangle, was Clint Barton's storage facility, with Tony Stark's auto body shop as the second corner. On the flat end of the triangle opposite the Double O, was a barber shop and beauty salon combo ran by Sitwell and Hill. A string of storefront shops formed the last corner and leg of the triangle, leading back to the Double O, including a clothing and athletic shoe store ran by the Maximoff twins, a yogurt store and an olde-fashioned hobby shop. The only as yet unoccupied storefront was the one directly beside the Double O, which was set to become a used bookstore, once Nick's friend Phil, finally got his shit together. 

"Well I'll be damned, like I conjured him up out of fucking thin air." Fury murmured the words to himself as he looked out the diner's picture window, to see Phil Coulson standing in front of the diner, staring at the sign in the empty store unit, with a bewildered look on his face. 'Coming soon: Coulson's Used Books'. 

"Natasha, watch the grill." Nick made his way around the diner's counter and skirted past the tables and booths to the front door. "I know she ain't much to look at right now, but with a little hard work..."

"Marcus, it's great. Hell, it's too much," said Phil.

"Shit, Cheese, it ain't damn near enough for what I owe you." 

Phil looked at the black eyepatch and the scarring it covered. "You still lost an eye. I didn't do anything..."

"What you did was drag my ass out of a shit storm and saved my fucking life."

"You'd have done the same for me. Hell, you have done the same for me. We're even."

Nick laughed, "We're even when I say we're fucking even, you got that?"

Phil looked back at Fury, with a small but sincere smile. "Sir, yes sir."

"Yes sir, my ass." Fury pulled Phil around and into a bear hug, whispering into his ear, "Sorry again about your mom."

"Thanks, Marcus."

~~~~~~~~

 

"Hey Nat! Who's the suit with Fury?" Clint Barton sat on his stool at the counter inside the diner. He'd been tracking Fury from the moment he left the grill. 

Natasha watched as the man in the suit pulled out of Nick's embrace. She teased, "You jealous, Clint?"

"What? No." Clint stuck out his tongue at her. "Neighborhood Watch, Nat. I keep my eye out for suspicious activity. And believe me, Fury touching anyone is suspicious activity. Hell, he even cracked a smile."

"Oh, you're right, that is suspicious."

"Nat..."

Natasha smiled fondly at Clint. "His name is Phil Coulson. He's a friend of Nick's from his Ranger days."

Barton looked at her incredulously. "That guy was a Ranger? Mr. Mild-mannered Accountant? And how do you know all that?"

"Clint! What have I taught you about judging a book by its cover?" Natasha mildly scolded. Clint looked suitably chagrined. "As far as knowing, I have my ways. Anyway, Fury has been saving the spot next door for him, 'Coulson's Used Books'. He's going to be our new neighbor."

Clint nodded. "Yeah, well, that's good, I guess." Natasha watched as Clint went back to his breakfast. To the untrained eye, it looked as though Clint's curiosity in Fury and his friend has been resolved. But Natasha knew Barton better than almost anyone, and she could tell there was something about Nick's friend that has piqued Clint's interest. She watched as Clint shifted ever so slightly to afford himself a better line of sight as he surreptitiously looked out the window. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Fury reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a set of keys, handing them to Phil. "Keys to the kingdom. Alarm code is the old unit number. Bookshelves, ladders, and all the tools and hardware you should need to put them together are inside. Figured you'd want to setup your own floor plan. Apartment's on the second floor. It's not huge, but it should do. Coffee's on at 4 every morning. We alternate Neighborhood Watch weekly. I'll put you in the rotation next week once you've made the rounds. We do a pot luck on Sunday's after I shut down the brunch crowd. Occasionally, I even light up the grill." Phil smiled at that. Nick's barbecue was legendary. "Any questions?"

"Looks like you got everything covered as usual."

"Always been my job to plan the missions and yours to carry them out. Don't see much reason in changing anything now." Both men laugh at that. "But seriously Phil, you need anything else, you let me know."

Phil looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I parked the truck down the block. Can I get access from the alley? And maybe a handcart to use to move the boxes?"

Nick smiled. "I may be able to do you one better than that." He swung open the door to the diner, and called out, "Barton, you got anything lined up this morning?"

Clint looked up from his spot at the counter. Having already finished his breakfast, he had been slowly nursing his coffee while continuing to watch the newcomer. "Nah. I got a run later, around 3, but my morning's clear. What do you need?"

Nick led the way into the diner as Clint spoke, with Phil trailing behind, stopping at Clint's stool. "My man Coulson here would like to use you."

Phil watched as Barton's eyes widened before he quickly schooled his expression. However, he couldn't stop the light flush that rose to his cheeks. Barton ducked his head shyly and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Interesting. Knowing Nick as well as he did, Phil knew how careful his friend was in choosing his wording, intentionally phasing things for the best effect. Phil wondered briefly if Fury had something going on with the younger man. While Nick wasn't into men sexually, he did occasionally take on a male sub. He would have to ask Nick about it later.

Phil held out his hand. "Hi, Phil Coulson. Phil. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barton."

Clint shook Coulson's hand, noting the firm grip. He's pleasantly surprised that Coulson's hands aren't baby soft. They aren't rough like his, due to all the heavy lifting Clint does, but Coulson's fingers are warm, slightly calloused, and feel really good. Barton looked up from their joined hands to see a small smile playing across Coulson's lips, as Phil looked at him expectantly. Clint realized he'd been holding the other man's hand for a bit longer than was normal. 

Clint quickly released Coulson's hand. "Ah, Clint. Call me Clint." 

"Clint." Phil smiled as he saw the other man duck his head again, his blush a little more evident. 

Fury smirked. "Phil here has a heavy load. Give him a hand, Barton?"

At the mention of heavy load, Clint's eyes immediately focused on Coulson's groin, then flew up to his face, to see the other man watching him. He was so busted. Clint stammered out, "Yeah, sure. You can get in from the back. Aw mouth, no. I meant, you can go in from behind. Fuck! Meet me in the alley. Just..." Clint pointed towards the door as he quickly made off towards the exit. "I'll be round the corner."

Phil watched as Clint escaped and Fury huffed out a laugh. 

"Well, hell," said Nick, "the boy damn near lost his shit."

"So that was an unexpected reaction to whatever the fuck you were up to?" asked Phil, mildly concerned, but also curious about Barton's responses to him. Barton was an attractive man, Phil readily admitted to himself. And he seemed really responsive, which was a tremendous turn-on as well. 

"You know me, Cheese. That's how I've always rolled. Nothing new here. Clint usually gives as good as he gets. Nothing flusters the kid. Usually."

"Yeah, I do know you. Let's see if I can help defuse your land mines." Phil said before he walked out the diner. 

Fury smirked again as he watched Phil walk down the block. His first thought was that Phil was as reliable as always. His second thought was that this was going to be way too easy. "Online dating match my ass." Fury turned to go back to the grill and was confronted by Natasha, who wore an unhappy look on her face. "What? You prefer Clint be with Rumlow?"

"I despise Rumlow. But I don't know Coulson."

"But I do. Coulson is a good man. I figured they'd hit it off, and I was right. He'll give Barton what he needs."

Natasha sighed. She wondered if Coulson could give Clint what he really wanted.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

By the time Phil pulled the truck into the alley, Clint was already standing near the backdoor of the bookstore with a heavy-duty hand cart. He drove a short way past the parking slot and put the truck in reverse, cutting the wheels sharply to turn and back smoothly into the very narrow slot. He shut off the engine, exited the cab and was headed to the back of the truck, when he saw Barton giving him an admiring look.

"I'm impressed. You slipped that big boy in that tight spot like it wasn't nothing."

Phil stopped and smiled, thinking perhaps Barton wasn't as out of sorts as Nick believed. "You keep lobbing them at me like that, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep from returning the favor."

Clint looked at him quizzically, and Phil returned it with a deadpan one. Then he quirked an eyebrow at Clint, waiting.

Clint scrunched up his face as he listened to Coulson, not understanding what he meant. He quickly replayed the lines of conversation in his mind, then abruptly smacked himself on the forehead. "Aw brain, no." 

Phil walked from the back of the truck to the shop's backdoor, smiling at Clint's realization of the innuendo he'd uttered. He had just opened the door to the shop and was disarming the alarm when Clint walked in, still completely flustered.

"Look, Mr. Coulson ..."

"Phil."

"OK, look Phil, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot."

Phil smiled at Clint, arching an eyebrow. "Gotten off?" 

"Damnit. What I mean is, see Fury and I, we screw around and stuff, not literally screw around, you know, cause... Fury only screws girls, not girls, women, he only screws women, and I'm not a woman, being that I have a dick..."

"Yes you do."

"Yes I do what?" asked Clint.

"You do have a dick. I noticed it. Hard not to, as those jeans don't leave much to the imagination. And I have a very vivid imagination. Anyway, you were saying, you screw around with Nick, but you don't actually screw around with Nick..." Coulson looked at Clint attentively, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm saying, that Fury and me, we joke around, you know, about sex and stuff and ... Were you just flirting with me?"

A wicked grin flitted across Coulson's face before he schooled his features. "That depends. Would you be offended if I were?"

"What? No! Offended? No. Of course not. I mean, Fury's the one that screws women." Phil cocked his head in question. Clint ran back over his last sentence in his head. "What the hell is wrong with me? Look, I wouldn't be offended if you were flirting with me. I'm gay, so no offense taken."

Phil replied, "I'll keep that in mind."

"But I am. Taken. Already. I mean, I have a... a Rumlow."

"A Rumlow?" Phil questioned.

Clint started to shift from foot to foot, slightly defensive in his posture. "He's this guy I'm kinda with, I mean, I'm not 'with him' with him, really. He just, sort of, takes care of stuff, me and ... So yeah."

Phil noticed Clint's discomfort while describing his maybe lover, and immediately his protective instincts flared up, sensing he had gone too far. "My apologies, Mr. Barton, for putting you into an uncomfortable position. Nick and I go a long way back as well, and we too, sometimes let our conversations take on a risqué note. However, it was extremely presumptuous of me to assume to have that same level of intimacy with you, having just made your acquaintance. If I have caused you any distress in regards to you or your ... Rumlow, I again apologize. I would completely understand it as well, if you would prefer not to provide your assistance with these boxes."

Clint was momentarily dumbstruck. "What? No, I'm fine. I'm good. Everything's good. It's all good. I said I'd help. I'll just... I'll start unloading the truck."

 

Barton walked over to the truck, wondering how quickly things shifted from too friendly to too professional with Coulson in the blink of an eye. He also had no idea why he couldn't string two complete sentences together in front of the man. There was just something about him, that made Clint stumble over his words. It wasn't like the guy really hit any of Clint's buttons or anything. Not really. Coulson was attractive in an everyman kind of way. But Clint liked the bad boy type, like Rumlow, no brains, but a lot of brawn. Rumlow was the kinda guy who could not only give Clint some orders, but make him follow them as well. Yeah, sometimes Rumlow got a little too caught up in the fantasies, and Clint had a few souvenir scars as proof of that. But most of the time, well, some of the time at least, he gave Clint what he needed. 

This Coulson guy, was nothing like the kind of guys Clint went for. Hell, he wore a suit and tie on moving day. Seriously? Who does that? Clearly the pencil pusher type of guy who'd be too soft for Clint's taste anyway. Clint wanted someone who knew how to take charge and take command and make him... just make him.

Clint released the latch on the truck door and rolled it up and open, revealing a shit load of boxes all neatly labeled and arranged in the back of the truck. It was the orderliness of everything that made Clint pause before shifting anything, certain that Coulson likely had a system he wanted to follow. 

Clint turned to ask Coulson what his plan was, but the words died on his lips, as Clint took in the sight before him. Coulson had not only removed his suit jacket and tie, but he had unbuttoned the top two shirt buttons, revealing a smattering of chest hair. He had also rolled up his shirtsleeves just past the elbows, showing off killer forearms. And any thoughts Clint previously had about Coulson being a 'soft and mild mannered accountant' was completely blown out the water as Clint took in the broad shoulders and wide, solid chest on the other man. Clint's eyes followed the line of buttons on Coulson's shirt south where they disappeared into the waistband of his slacks, and continued further to land squarely, once again, at Coulson's groin. This time there was no suit jacket in the way of him getting an eyeful of his ample package. But just as before, when Clint's eyes lifted to Coulson's face, the other man was watching him in return. 

Actually, watching him was the entirely wrong words for how intense and considering Coulson's gaze was. It reminded Clint of the few occasions where he'd had Fury's unwavering attention, and Clint knew exactly what the results of that kind of scrutiny brought, and felt a shiver go through him at the pleasant thought. He wondered if it would be the same with Coulson. He had to physically check himself from assuming a submissive position from the intensity of his gaze alone. As he broke eye contact, lowering his own eyes as his body continued to try to give in to his submissive nature, Clint noticed the tie Coulson still held in a loose loop within his hands. Clint's mind immediately flashed though several scenarios where a fully suited Coulson used his tie as he fucked a completely naked Clint - in the back of the moving truck, Clint laid out on the boxes, Coulson's tie wrapped around Clint's dripping dick; against the wall of the back room of the store, with Clint's hands tied and held tight above his head; in Clint's office, with Clint bent over his own desk, Coulson's tie around Clint's neck like a bridle as Coulson rode his ass - each thought filled Clint with lust and need. When Clint looked back at Coulson he knew the other man would see his desire written all over his face.

 

Phil pulled off his suit jacket as he prepared to unload the truck, chastising himself for his behavior with Barton. He knew he should have reigned himself in when Barton had become obviously flustered in the diner, however there was something about Clint that was pinging on Phil's dominant nature. True, he'd just met the other man, but he felt a pull, a connection. But Clint had just put himself off limits. Clint was 'Taken'. He had a 'Rumlow'. And even though Clint seemed less than thrilled as he described his maybe lover, Phil had enough experience not to come between anyone's relationship. Phil just had to resign himself to 'don't touch Barton'.

And Phil had every intention to keeping Barton in the 'acquaintance only' category until he saw the other man giving him a frankly sexual perusal. It was enough to put his Dom nature to the test. When Clint's eyes had finished trailing over Phil's body, with Phil instinctively feeling them on each and every inch, Phil held Clint's gaze and returned it with his own. While Clint's gaze had been one of sexual interest, Phil's eyes bored into Clint's conveying intent - not just sex, but the desire and ability to take Clint apart bit by bit, and put him back together whole again, better than he had been before. He watched Clint shiver and immediately wanted to order the other man down. When he saw Clint eyes lower in submission, Phil knew if he had ordered Clint to kneel, that Barton would be his. Coulson tracked Barton's lowered gaze to the tie he held in his hands. When Barton raised his head again, Phil saw that Clint's pupils were completely blown. 

Phil's first thought was 'fuck this Rumlow person'. There was no way 'Rumlow' was meeting any of Clint's needs if his reactions to Phil were this strong. And anyone not meeting the needs of such an eager and responsive submissive, certainly wasn't deserving of him. Phil was just about to go to him, wrap his hand around the back of his neck and ask if he could take care of Clint, when the moment was broken by the sound of a couple of guys calling Clint's name as they walked down the alley, towards his truck. 

Clint had also heard the voices and from the look on his face, Phil surmised one of the men was Rumlow. Phil watched as Clint cursed to himself, turned his back to Phil, then scrubbed his hand through his hair in a panicked state, his body shaking. Instinct took over, and before Phil had given it any conscious thought, he was beside Clint, speaking softly but firmly to the other man. "Barton. Barton. Clint, I want you to breathe. Breathe with me, Clint. Slow, deep breaths." Phil wanted to put his hand on Clint to help ground him, but when he reached out he saw Clint shake his head no, a small whimper falling from Clint's mouth. Instead, Phil shifted so that his shoulder bumped Clint's. He felt Barton push back into his shoulder, so he provided what little physical support he could that way. "That's it. That's right. Good boy, Clint. Just breathe. You're good. You're being so good for me, Clint." As the voices got closer, Phil told Clint, "Stay here, I'll buy you some time." At Clint's sharp nod, Phil stepped around the side of the truck just as the two men made it to the front of the truck.

"May I help you?" Phil asked.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mister ?" The smaller of the two men addressed Phil. 

"Coulson."

"Mr. Coulson. I tried to explained to Mr. Rumlow that Mr. Barton was on a job." 

"Listen, little man, Clint doesn't have a job scheduled for today." Rumlow shouted, "Clint get your sorry ass out here." 

If Phil hadn't cared for Rumlow before he met the man, his distaste was even greater at seeing him up close and personal. Rumlow was a bully, pure and simple. Phil could see that he was a wannabe Dom who didn't know what the hell he had in Clint. 

Phil was just about to give Rumlow a piece of his mind, when Clint rounded from the back of the truck. "Rumlow, what the fuck are you doing here?" Clint's voice was filled with steel, which impressed the hell out of Phil, given his distressed state a few seconds ago. But Phil had no idea how Clint was going to cover the fact that his pupils were blown from arousal. He noticed moisture around Clint's eyes and wondered if Clint had started crying, but then Clint tilted his head back and squeezed some eye drops into his eyes. "Fitz told you I was on a job. I've warned you before, you can't just show up on my job sites pulling this shit."

Rumlow brushed past Phil to get into Barton's face. "Don't you fucking smart mouth me. I called your sorry ass three times." Rumlow grabbed Clint's arm, forcing him to drop his bottle of eye drops. "Why the fuck didn't you pick up my calls? You out fucking around on me or what?"

Phil took a step toward Rumlow and Barton, but a strong grip on his shoulder stopped him from going further. He turned and was surprised to see Bruce Banner, an acquaintance from his service days. "I wouldn't if I were you. Clint doesn't really appreciate other people fighting his battles for him. Especially when he doesn't need the help."

Clint had shook off Rumlow's hand and pushed the other man away from him. "Get your fucking hands off me, asshole. I told you, I'm working. End of story. Now leave me the fuck alone."

Rumlow, having seen the anger radiating off of Clint, changed his tactics. "Ah, Clint baby, you don't mean that. Come on baby. I'm sorry." He sidled up to Clint, and put his hand on the back of Clint's neck, gripping firmly. He could feel Clint's muscles loosening under his touch. "You know how jealous I get when I don't know where you are." He lowered his voice further. "Yeah baby, you know I just want to look out for you. I came by this morning to take care of that sweet ass of yours. But you weren't there and you didn't tell me you were going anywhere. You know we talked about that." He gave Clint's neck another squeeze, and knew he'd won when Clint unconsciously leaned into his body. 

"Alright, yeah, look, I got this job, spur of the moment thing, to help Fury's friend out." Clint shifted out from beneath Rumlow's grasp. "Besides, I never got any calls from you." Clint pulled out his cellphone, and looked at a blank screen. "Batteries dead. Your calls never got through."

Rumlow rounded on Clint again, his voice full of censure. "How many times have I told you to keep that damn thing charged, Clint? I want to know where you are, at all times."

Phil watched as Barton first bristled at Rumlow's tone, then quickly acquiesced to the other man. "Look, I'll call you as soon as I finish up here."

"You make sure you do." 

"Yeah, I said I would." 

"Two O'clock, Barton, I'll be back here for you at two." Rumlow gave Clint a pointed look. 

"I got a job at three," said Clint. 

"I know. I'm going with you. Got to keep my eyes on you." Rumlow turned and walked away from Clint, back toward the alley. He gave Phil and Bruce a dismissive look, flaunting his control over Clint.

 

An uncomfortable silence filled the space after Rumlow departed. It was broken when Clint's assistant, Leopold Fitz spoke. "I'm sorry Clint, I tried to stop him, I really did."

"Don't sweat it Fitz, it's not your fault. Rumlow's right. I should have had my fucking phone charged. I can't run a business if I can't take calls. It's a wonder I have any clients at all." Clint huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. "Bruce, I'm going to hit the head." Clint retreated into the backdoor of Bruce's Hobby Shop.

Phil was incensed. Rumlow was not just a bully, he was an asshole to boot. Even though Phil had just met Barton, he knew that the way Rumlow had publicly degraded him was uncalled for. Rumlow was using Clint's apparent low self-esteem to run rough-shod over him, and Phil wasn't having any of it. He was about to follow Clint into the store when a strong grip on his shoulder stopped him from going further. Phil turned to see Banner again holding him back, and thought for a small guy, Banner was built solid like a tank. 

"You plan on making that a habit? Cause I got to tell you, that's a bad idea." Phil looked pointedly down at the hand on his shoulder.

Bruce gave Coulson a small smile before removing his hand. "Fitz, head on back. I'll help Clint out over here."  
Phil heard the relieved sigh from Fitz before the young man hurried away.

"So now that you have me alone..." said Phil. 

Banner pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with a small cloth he produced from his pocket. "You know how you have that little voice talking inside your head, well mine, he gets pretty big and vocal when it comes to Clint."

Phil's eyes narrowed and Bruce smiled. "Jealousy, and you only met Clint, what, ten minutes ago? That's a good sign."

"I take it there's a point to this conversation, Dr. Banner?" Phil's words were sharp. 

"I saw you and Clint. Before. I saw how Clint responded to you; the way you grounded him when he needed it. I think you could be good for him."

"But?" Phil prompted.

"Coulson, I've never seen you go into any scrimmage unprepared, without as many of the facts that you can get your hands on. So let me give you this one. Rumlow may be a battle, but Barton's history is the war. Are you prepared to go to war for Clint?"

Phil studied Banner for a moment, before replying, "Yes."

Bruce smiled. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Phil stood under the hot spray from his shower, his head rolled forward, allowing the jets of water to massage his neck and shoulders. Between Clint, Bruce and himself, it had been nearly two in the afternoon by the time the truck was unloaded and the boxes of books stacked conveniently in the store until Phil could get the shelves up. It hadn't really surprised Phil that the entire time they unloaded the truck that Clint had been distant and subdued. Clint seemed to want a wide berth between Phil and himself, and Phil gave it, albeit reluctantly, allowing Bruce to be the go between. It wasn't ideal, but Banner had been correct, Phil needed more intel on Clint Barton. 

Phil had been sitting in the cab of his truck at two o'clock when Rumlow arrived to go with Clint on his job. He watched the interactions between the two men, noting how every time Rumlow got into Clint's personal space, Clint seemed to shrink in on himself. Clint became especially anxious when Rumlow started pawing his hands possessively on Clint's cock and ass in the open view of the alley, while whispering something in Clint's ear. Phil suspected it was some dominating threat, as he watched Clint drop his eyes and succumb to the lecherous touch. Phil thought his surveillance had gone unnoticed, but was surprised when Clint, having finally gotten into the cab of his own truck, smiled softly and nodded slightly at Phil before pulling off. It was a small but encouraging sign.

Phil rubbed the soap across his chest, working up a thick lather. He was happy to finally be able to wash away the sweat and grime from moving. To say he was exhausted would be an understatement. His day had started at 3am, with the first hour dedicated to final move preparations. Then there was the four hour drive to the bookstore. Unloading had taken up almost six hours, and then he had to drive four hours back out to return the rental truck. He could have just stayed at his parents' home until the next day, but thoughts of Clint and Rumlow wouldn't let him settle in and relax. So five hours later, after taking a nap and eating dinner, Phil had hitched up Lola to tow behind his SUV, and was headed back to the bookstore. It had been a little after 2am when Phil had parked once again at the rear of the bookstore. He saw that Clint's truck was back in its spot. But that didn't tell him anything aside from the fact that he'd completed his afternoon run. Phil didn't know where Clint stayed. For all Phil knew, Clint was in Rumlow's bed right now getting his ass pounded. That thought did nothing to ease his mind. 

Spending hours driving back and forth had afforded Phil ample time to think about his latest life choices, including his nearly completed move. Fury had offered him the space next to his diner over a year ago, after Phil's mom had died and he said he'd wanted to move the family bookstore out of Manitowoc, WI. His dad had built a fairly good living buying and selling used books. His mom had run the business after his father died, while Phil had been in the service. But once his mother passed, and with the ability to sell books online, Phil had wanted to move out of the small town he grew up in. After settling the affairs of the estate over the last year, Phil had finally decided to make the big move. Now, a little more than 24 hours after he started on this new era in his life, Phil knew the next set of choices he made in regards to one Clint Barton would bring major changes to his original plans. 

After a couple of quick shampoos, and another full body wash down, Phil stepped under the spray for a final rinse. He dried himself, wrapped the towel around his waist, then headed into his bedroom. He had just finished putting on underwear and a pair of sleep pants when he heard the clink of heavy crystal glasses. The heady aroma of well aged, top shelf bourbon filled the small space of his kitchen as Phil stood in the doorway and watched Nick fill two glasses. 

"Asshole." Phil threw the comment at Nick as he crossed to the table and took the glass Nick offered him.

"I believe we established that a long time ago, Cheese," replied Fury. 

"Recent events require that it be restated." Phil sat down in the chair across the table from Fury. "What the actual fuck, Marcus?"

"You want to narrow that down, or should I just pick a topic and fill in the blanks?" Fury smirked at Phil.

"Barton."

"You're welcome." 

Phil huffed out a laugh. "Really, you're going to go with that?"

"Barton is exactly your type and you damn well know it. Fuck, all I did was wrap him in a bow and drop him on your lap. Think of him as a housewarming gift." 

"Marcus..." Phil's voice held a hint of warning.

Nick held up his hands, placatingly. "Look, the truth is, the boy's in trouble."

"Rumlow." Phil spat the name out derisively.

"I see you've met the opposing team?" Nick said, jokingly.

"This isn't funny."

Nick sobered. "You think I don't know that. I said the boy was in trouble, and I meant it."

"Why the fuck is Rumlow still breathing?"

"Rumlow's not the issue." Phil cocked his head in question. "I've known Clint for a few years," said Fury. "He's a good kid that had a hard life. He's persevered, but the scars he wears are not all physical. He's a sub, but he's had his training, if you could call it that, at the hands of true assholes. Men who abused the very nature and purity of the Dom/sub relationship. Because of this, Clint Barton is spiraling headlong toward self destruction."

"And you wanted me to take him on as a sub? News flash, he shut me down already. He said he had a "Rumlow". He said he was "taken". Besides, you could have just asked me."

Fury's voice took on a mocking tone. "I could have just asked you? Really? I could have just called your ass up and said 'Hey Cheese, I have a sub in distress over here. Think you could run on down and take him on?' Bullshit. You would have told me you couldn't take on a sub, that you were out of the game." He spoke softly as he continued. "Phil, I know you had it rough with Ward's betrayal, but Clint's not Grant. And it's high time you got your head out of your ass and had a relationship, a real relationship."

"And you think I could have a real relationship with Clint Barton?"

"I think you wouldn't have drove your sorry ass to Wisconsin and back in less than ten hours if you didn't."

"I'll admit I was somewhat concerned," replied Phil. Nick snorted. "But you trying to set me up with Clint? There's no way in hell you could have known we'd hit it off."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Coulson you're an open book for anyone who'd take the time to read you. We've known each other for over fifteen years. Believe me, in that time, I've learned to read you. And Barton hits damn near all of your check boxes. And you, his. Hell, I bet you've hit check boxes he didn't even know he wanted checked. I heard that the 'forearms of desire' made an appearance?" Phil had the decency to duck his head to hide his blush. "Yeah, that shirtsleeve move has made many a sub bust a nut trying to get your attention. Don't pull any bullshit with me, Phil. I knew you and Clint were a matched pair the moment I met him. It was just a matter of time before I got you both in the same place at the same time."

Phil smiled at Nick, conceding the point. "So what else do you see in your crystal ball, oh wise one?"

Nick returned the smile and refilled their glasses. "He's a little skittish. He may run to ground, avoiding you, if things get to be too much for him. Don't let him. Don't force him into anything, but try to draw him out. Let him get to know you, the real you, in all your nerdy goodness."

"Fuck you," said Phil. But the comment held no heat.

"He'll come around, once he's comfortable with you. Take it slow, Phil. Retrain him the right way, and help him unlearn all that bullshit he thinks is submission. Clint is loyal to a fault, once he finds someone to believe in. Make sure that someone is you."

"Still planning my missions, I see."

"And you'll still complete them."

"This one especially. You were right. There is something special about Clint, that I hope I'll have the opportunity to explore." 

"Good. But Coulson, a word of warning, you hurt that boy, and they might not find your body."

"You're giving me the shovel talk?" asked Phil, incredulously. 

"Better it comes from me than Clint's friend Natasha. She's a little Russian spit-fire, who'll make your balls shrink up in fear."

"What, she got the tracksuit mafia at her back?"

"Nope. Worse. Just her. Hell, she may come visit you one night regardless of my warning."

"Damn. Duly noted. No breaking Clint's heart. What about mine? You going to give Barton the shovel talk?"

"Nope. Natasha does equal opportunity with the shovel."

Phil huffed out a laugh, then sobered quickly. "Perhaps her shovel skills aren't as effective as you'd like to think. Why is Rumlow still breathing?"

"As of 9pm last night, Brock Rumlow was no longer a factor in Clint Barton's life."

"You care to elaborate?"

Fury took a sip from his glass. "Rumlow was an asshole. Fortunately, he wasn't just your garden variety asshole. He was an asshole with aspirations. As bad as he was as a Dom, he was an even worst two-bit hoodlum." Nick smiled predatorily. "He did run afoul of the tracksuit mafia. As well as the Chinese and the Colombians. Seems one of them setup Rumlow in a raid last night. Our Mr. Rumlow is now in the custody of the federal government. Word on the wind is they've got him in solitary for his safety. He's fucked with a lot of people, Cheese, on both sides of the law. I'm not sure there's really any place he'll be safe."

Phil took all of this in, then asked, "Does Clint know about Rumlow?"

"Yeah, he was with me in the diner when we got word. He tried to act unaffected, but even Natasha said he looked relieved."

"Good. He didn't need that asshole crowding him up anymore." 

"He just needs you crowding him, right?"

"Damn straight."

Nick smiled knowingly. "He asked about you. I told him you went home."

"You're a bastard and an asshole," replied Phil, as he smiled at Fury.

"Again, points established a long time ago." Fury rose from his chair at the sound of his alarm, straightening his long black apron. "Time to make the doughnuts." He turned to go but stopped when Coulson called after him.

"Your bottle?" Phil pointed to the decanter still on the table.

"Keep it, you're going to need it." Nick opened the door to leave, but turned back one more time. "Did I mention Barton used to be a sniper in the corp."

Phil rose slowly, facing Nick. "No. Should I be concerned."

"Clint was the best damn marksman in his unit, hell, probably in any unit. They called him Hawkeye, cause he's got this incredible eyesight."

"And you're telling me this, why?"

"You've picked up a friendly on your six o'clock." Fury smirked. "Barton's building across the alley. Fourth floor, third window from the right is his bedroom. He's been watching you."

"How long?" asked Phil, not looking around to let on he knows he's being watched. 

"Knowing Clint, probably since before you drove up. He's usually a stealthy son of a bitch, but I'm thinking he wanted to be noticed. He made a nest on his bed and has been taking a long, leisurely wank while scoping you out."

Phil took a casual glance back at the darkened building. "You are so full of shit, Marcus." Phil laughed.

"Don't believe me, see for yourself? A commuter train runs northbound on the tracks up there every fifteen minutes. It's headlight filters in just enough light to see him in shadow for about twenty seconds. He's got some unmistakable hand movements going on. He's been going at it for at least the past hour, probably longer. He may need a little push over the last hurdle. You ought to help the boy out. Later."

Phil locked up after Fury left, all the while contemplating what he had said about Clint watching him. He took the seat that Nick had vacated and checked his watch. Eight minutes until the next train. It was a given that Phil was going to sit here and see for himself. The way the buildings were situated, Clint would have a clear line of sight to most of his bedroom, and the section of his kitchen where his table sat. 

Phil heard the approaching train, then watched as the headlight cast its glow into Barton's building. And just as Fury had said, Phil could just make out Clint's silhouette in the passing light. Clint was in fact jerking off as he watched Phil from his bedroom. As the glow from the headlight faded, putting Clint into dark shadows once again, Phil contemplated Fury's other statement. If Clint had been jerking off for over an hour, did he really need a push? For that matter, how could he give Barton a push? He had fifteen minutes to think of something. 

"Guess I do need a drink after all." Phil lifted the decanter to pour himself a glass, when he saw the business card that Nick left underneath. It was for Barton's Moving and Storage. Printed on the front of the card was the business phone and address. Phil flipped the card over and saw two phone numbers apparently handwritten by Clint on the back, labeled home and cell. Phil smiled. He knew just what to do.

As time dwindled down for the next train's arrival, Phil moved from the kitchen to his bedroom. He stood in front of the windows, still bare chested, clearly on display for Clint. Phil had his cellphone in his hand with Clint's home number queued up. When he heard the train approach, Phil connected the call.

'Hi, it's Clint. Sorry I missed you. Leave a message at the beep.' Phil listened to the answering machine greeting.

At the sound of the beep, Phil looked directly at Clint, and spoke softly into his phone. "Such a good boy for me."

As the train's light filtered in, Phil watched as Clint's shadowed form made several extremely quick hand jerks, then appear to arch up momentarily, before sliding down into a heap. As the illumination faded out, Phil whispered, "Sleep well," then disconnected the call.

~~~~~~~~

The following afternoon Phil was working in the back of the bookstore putting together a shelving unit, when Clint stopped over. "Good morning, Phil." Clint smiled hesitantly.

Phil returned his smile. "Good morning, Clint. It's good to see you." Phil watched as Clint ducked his head slightly, a light blush blooming. "I wanted to thank you again for all your help yesterday. You were a lifesaver." Phil watched as Clint soaked up the praise.

"It was no problem at all, Phil. In fact, I was just at my place watching you working on the shelves." Clint cut his eyes down and spoke softly. "I'm free now, so I came by to see if you, maybe, still wanted me?" 

Phil put down the tools he had been working with and walked over to Barton. He smiled at Clint, then slowly lifted his hand and gently wrapped it around the back of Clint's neck. He drew Clint close and whispered over his lips, "There will never come a time when I don't want you, Clint Barton. You are mine." Phil gave Clint a tender kiss and a light squeeze to his neck. "Mine," repeated Phil.

"Yes," replied Clint, breathless but happy. "Yes."

 

Epilogue

Phil would love to say that after his first kiss with Clint, they lived happily ever after. But nothing could be further from the truth. The reality was, they had a few ups and downs in the three months they had been together, the majority which centered around their Dom/sub dynamic. Phil had felt it was important that Clint had a better understanding of the proper "do's and don't" in a BDSM relationship. Phil viewed Safe, Sane and Consensual as the foundation for any encounter, and without Clint's full buy-in, he was not going to permit them to have a scene together. 

That's not to say that he and Clint didn't have sex. There was no way in hell Phil could keep his hands off of Clint. So yeah, sex, and lots of it. Phil made sure to worship every inch of Clint's body, with slow and easy lovemaking, ending in mutually satisfying orgasms. 

In between the lovemaking, Phil had been working with Clint to make some personal adjustments. Phil used praise and stroking touches to build up and reinforce Clint's self-esteem. And on the occasions when Clint's behavior was less than acceptable, Phil would scold the behavior, not the man, never belittling Clint, especially not in public. Phil wanted to show Clint that being submissive didn't mean being somebody's doormat. The adjustments weren't easy, at times Clint had been anxious and resistant, but usually they worked through the issues. 

There were adjustments on Phil's side as well. He had been alone, no real lover, and only doing limited play at the club, for almost five years. The betrayal by his former lover and sub, Grant Ward, had cut so deeply, that Phil had sworn off getting involved ever again. Even though he knew the difference between Grant and Clint was like night and day, Phil also knew he was keeping a small part of himself locked away, to avoid being emotionally devastated again. He knew it wasn't fair to Clint, so Phil was trying to work though his own issues as well. 

So, yeah, they were a work-in-progress. And now, three months down the line, they had progressed to the point of having scenes. Most of them so far had been pretty tame, Phil ordering Clint to kneel as he hand-fed him; tying Clint's hands to the headboard while Phil rode his cock; and Phil giving Clint a light spanking before sucking Clint off, the duel sensations driving Clint wild. 

But tonight was different. Tonight they were going to fulfill one of Clint's sexual fantasies. Initially, when Phil had asked Clint what were some of his fantasies, Clint had gone hazy in lust with all the possibilities. But then Clint had remembered the thoughts he'd had when he first knew he wanted Phil to be his Dom. Clint told Phil about the fantasies that he'd thought of that first day they met, and asked Phil to fulfill one of them. 

It was a little after midnight, when Clint and Phil had returned from a pickup, where Phil had taken delivery of a small library of books from an estate auction. Clint had pulled his truck inside the storage building at Phil's behest, to presumably store the boxes of books in the storage room Phil rented. When Clint had retuned to unload the truck, after locking down the building again, he found out that Phil had plans that didn't involve unloading their cargo. Phil had opened the rolled-door on the back of the truck, and was standing inside next to the boxes of books, his tie held looped in his hands. Clint had gotten an immediate hard-on, upon realizing Phil's intent.

Phil's voice was whisper quiet as he ordered Clint to get in the truck. He smiled as Clint hurriedly did so, lowering himself to kneel in front of Phil. He stroked a hand through Clint's hair, and heard him purr in contentment. 

"So good for me, Clint. I'm going to fuck you, out here on these boxes of books. Would you like that?" 

"Please, Sir, yes. Please." Clint's voice was already rough with arousal. Phil's cock twitched in desire, the rigid line of it in sharp relief in the tailored slacks of his suit. Clint wanted nothing more than to suck the head of it through Phil's pants, but a short tug on his hair had him rising to his feet. 

Phil pulled Clint into a deep kiss, and he could feel the strum of anticipation running through Clint's body. Breaking the kiss, Phil pushed Clint toward the stacks of boxes he'd made, just the right height for Clint to lie back upon comfortably. "Strip."

Clint whipped his t-shirt over his head, while reaching down to unlace his boots. He loosened his belt and pushed down jeans and underwear, stepping out of them and his footwear all in one go. Phil chuckled at his eagerness. 

Phil reached into his jacket pocket, retrieved a small bottle of lube and handed it to Clint. "Lie down on the boxes and open yourself up for me." Clint moaned deeply even as he moved to comply. This was a kink that they discovered between them about a month into their relationship. Clint would work himself open under Phil's intense gaze, the process fueling their desire. This time was no different. He loved how flexible Clint was, his ass just at the edge of the box, his knees bent and legs spread wide, with his feet planted on the edge of the box for support. Phil could barely restrain himself from touching his cock, while watching Clint's slick fingers sink into his ass. When Clint's back arched slightly as he pushed in three fingers, Phil stopped trying to resist at all. He lowered the zipper on his slacks and fished his cock and balls out from the slit in his boxers. 

Phil wrapped a length of his silk tie around his hand and stroked it over his cock, groaning at the feel. 

Clint watched as the head of Phil's dick disappeared then reappeared from between the layers of fabric. "Fuck, Sir, please. I'm ready. Please, please fuck me."

"You sure you're ready for me? You got that sweet hole of yours open for me, just the way I like it Clint?" 

"Fuck, yes. Yes, Sir. My hole is ready for you, always ready for you. Please." Clint keened as he pushed down on his fingers. 

"Hands behind your head, Clint," Phil ordered, as he draped the tie across Clint's knees. He watched it slither down Clint's thighs as he shifted to clasp his fingers behind his head. The moan Clint made at the feel of the silk on his skin was damn near pornographic. Phil hurriedly tore open the condom packet and slid it carefully onto his cock. He was as turned on by this fantasy as Clint was, maybe even more so. He absolutely loved being dressed while Clint was naked and at his mercy. He rubbed the head of his cock at Clint's slick opening, barely breaching the tight hole, before pulling back out. Clint moaned but didn't complain at the teasing touches. 

"So good for me, Clint. You are being so very good. But you know you're going to have to work harder for your reward, right? You remember our agreement? You think you can do it?"

"Yes." Clint gasped as Phil wrapped the silk tie around his cock. He could barely think as the smooth material slid up and down his heated length. He got a perverse thrill knowing he's was making Phil's tie filthy with his leaking pre-cum, his own little way of disheveling the always well put together man. This fantasy was also aimed at breaking some of Phil's legendary control. Their agreement was that Phil would penetrate Clint, and jack him ever so lightly with his tie, but Phil wouldn't fuck him. If they were going to cum, it would be from Clint working his ass on Phil's cock to bring them both off. "Yes, Sir. Yes. Need you in me. Please."

Phil left the tie wrapped around Clint's dick and picked up the bottle of lube off the box. He slicked up the condom and squirted more lube on his fingers. He breached Clint's ass with two fingers, testing Clint's tightness while adding more lube. "Fuck, Clint, your hole is going to be so damn tight on my cock." Phil added more lube to his fingers and pushed back into Clint with three, pressing on his prostate firmly. 

Clint clenched down on Phil's fingers and groaned. "Sir, fuck, please."

Satisfied that Clint was ready, Phil pushed slowly, but inexorably, into Clint's ass, stilling only when he'd bottomed out. The clutch of Clint's tight heat was an exquisite kind of pain that Phil reveled in. He could feel the small tremors as Clint held himself still, adjusting to the fullness and awaiting Phil's command. Phil pushed forward slightly, his cloth covered groin pressed firmly against Clint's naked ass. He heard a sharp grunt from Clint as the shifting of his cock pressed on Clint's prostate. Phil wrapped his left hand around Clint's beefy thigh, securing their positions. With his right hand Phil again clutched the silk tie around Clint's cock and began stroking him ever so lightly, just enough friction to leave him gasping slightly for breath. 

 

Clint was so turned on he could barely think straight. Phil was fulfilling one of his fantasies, and the whole encounter couldn't have been hotter. He was naked while Phil was fully dressed with just his dick hanging out his pants. Phil's dick had looked beautiful, flushed and fully engorged. Clint initially wanted to ask Phil if he could suck it, but the promise of having the thick cock deep in his ass sooner had Clint holding his tongue. When Phil finally began filling him, his hot, hard length throbbing as it moved inch by slow inch deeper into his tight channel, Clint thought he was going to explode from the sheer fullness of it. Phil wasn't exactly hung like a horse, but his cock was longer than average and had a really nice girth to it. Clint had spent many a night working his throat muscles to try and deep-throat Phil. He'd yet to succeed, but they both had a hell of a time while Clint was practicing. Now, tough, with Phil sheathed deep inside Clint's ass, it took all Clint had to be still and wait for Phil's commandment to move. Clint had to call upon all of his Pilates principles - centering, concentration, control, precision, breath, and flow - even as his body balanced on the razor's edge of pleasure. 

Phil looked down at the beautiful man spread out before him, speared upon his aching cock. There was no way this encounter was going to last very long, they were both so aroused. Phil had no doubt that Clint would be able to bring them to climax, having done so on more than one occasion when Phil wanted him to work for his climax. Adding the elements of his fantasy to the mix, Phil knew it wasn't a matter of if, but when. When Phil had finally saw Clint settle beneath him, his chest moving up and down, with measured breaths, Phil knew that it was time. "Okay sweet boy, time to work that ass of yours on my cock." Phil groaned at the first tight squeeze and relax of Clint's ass on his dick. "Fuck, that's it, that's right. Just like that Clint. Fuck yourself, take my cock." 

Clint began a rhythm of clench and release, starting slowly at first, but quickly ramping faster. Phil marveled at the way Clint's six-pack abs pulled in greater definition as Clint flexed below him. "That's right Clint. Milk me Clint. Milk my cock. Make me come Clint and get your reward. Fuck, Clint, your ass is so good, so tight. I'm going come so hard Clint, with you fucking yourself on my cock. You are being so good for me Clint, so fucking good."

Phil could feel his own pebbled nipples ache deliciously as they rubbed against his shirt as he struggled to remain passive and not pound Clint's tight ass. He recognized that his struggles were not needed when Clint began to keen sharply as his hips flexed. Phil tightened his fist slightly, stroking Clint with the wet silk. "That's right Clint. Such a very good boy for me. Give me that sweet ass, Clint. I want you to come on my cock Clint. I want you to come now Clint. Come for me now."

 

Clint felt his climax barrel through him like a freight train, his whole body seizing, ass clamping down tight on Phil's cock. Even as he was coming down from his orgasm, Clint could feel the heavy pulses of Phil's own climax. His throat felt sore, and he realized he had shouted Phil's name at the top of his lungs. He felt boneless, and fully sated, thankful for the sturdy boxes beneath him. Phil shifted to pull out, but Clint lifted up and grabbed Phil's lapels, pulling him into a kiss.

"Please, Sir, stay in me a little bit longer," begged Clint after he broke the kiss.

Phil felt his spent dick give a valiant jerk. "I'm not going anywhere, Clint." Phil was happy to know he meant it in every way possible.

~~~~ end ~~~~


End file.
